Behind Reality
by firstwivesclub
Summary: I couldn't blame him for getting caught up in her existence but from the moment it exploded I knew he was completely undeserving of a woman like Norma Bates.


I was propelled by consistency. Steadfast; a man relentlessly driven by an unwavering skill for observation. It was a position of power that was impossible to detach from my persona and it's hidden identity granted me enough understanding to witness shifts in behaviors with an uncanny simplicity. The evidence of my expertise easily became another weapon in my conquest to evolve into a conscious bystander. I crave the isolated freedom. It's an immunity that feeds off my passiveness until the things I can't control fester and I'm forced to intervene. Most times it's easy to overhaul the entropy; smooth over the chaos until balance becomes normalcy.

Then somehow it isn't.

It's no secret when single people gravitate towards one another socially. They're inevitable dance creates a tiresome cliche; one where decent man meets an even more enigmatic woman and the tension is palpable. It's only difficult to comprehend relationships when the participants are undeserving. Rationally I couldn't blame him for getting caught up in her existence, hell I was the poster child, but from the moment it exploded I knew he was completely undeserving of a woman like Norma Bates.

I tried desperately to find his faults. Constantly in search for any flaw that would make him incomparable to myself. It was a road I hated to travel because no matter what turns were taken the destination always led to failure. Because instead of thinking about how he must really be a monster underneath it all I'm left with the picture of the two of them together, laughing, and living and it's too much for anyone to take. The mere thought of it drives me to a maddening delirium. Pushing them, him, thoughts of her, out of my mind is really the only chance I have at survival. But I'm a conspirator listening to the unseen voices and I seldom have peace from their speculation. Moments that come wedged between fitful periods of sleep, the thoughts and feelings unwanted; they're always brief in their execution but unrelenting in their exhaustion. My weakness is pathetic.

Unattached I am more than determined to recover sanity's allusiveness.

I start by removing myself from the confines of the motel and it's euphoric when fresh air mingles with the staleness. I breathe deep, lost in thought, until the rhythmic footfalls of stilettos on concrete echo their path. I manage to inhale another full breath before I turn to meet her sauntering form and suddenly the air's in a fight for release. I choke on the it, the coughing simultaneous with my social clumsiness.

"Easy there sheriff" The tone she offers encompasses casualty marked further by the playful salute in my direction. She doesn't stop until her body settles itself on the uneven gravel moments later.

"I could say the same for you" My words reverberate deep with the clearing of my throat, trying desperately to regain balance and dislodge the trapped oxygen. They don't make much sense strung together but she's too damn beautiful standing in front of me, unbelievably so, and I'm staring without apology.

The fabric of her dress is relatively see-through in all the right places. Neckline plunges entrapping sight and my gaze is invited dangerously low. All too soon I'm met with the expanse of her upper thigh. It teases my resolve; unapologetic and uncaring; she's erotic without intending to be; I do everything in my power to advert my eyes.

"What's that supposed to mean?" She's not exactly angry but vocal pitch is rising and I'm just thankful that she hasn't noticed my lusting stupor.

"Nothing" I work quickly to recover "Where you off to?"

"Well not that it's any of your business but I've got a date tonight" Her smile is coy, playful, it lingers, and for one moment it's directed solely at me.

"Sounds horrible"

Making her way to the driver's side of the Mercedes her body lingers between door and interior. She's waiting for me to follow her movements and only when I am situated closer does she sink down into the leather; I rest my hand on metal threshold.

"Please you wish I was your date" The amusement in her voice is intoxicating and I can't help but get caught up in it's trap.

"Keep telling yourself that woman"

"I bet if I called you'd always coming running Sheriff"

"Alright smartass" I try desperately to feign annoyance but I know it's a losing battle. Gesturing for me to back away she slams the car door shut; a signal to the finality of our conversation. But as the ignition roars to life I can't hesitate to place another humorous jab before she leaves me.

"Remember if you need me I'm just a call away"

She leans her head out, yelling as she's pulling away, "Now who's the smartass?"

x

I've always been strong. Born with an unrelenting willpower that defined my being; fighting vigorously for self preservation. An embedded advantage that I could use to control those around me to produce selfish results. It was perpetually easy to use men. An opposite sex so contrived around the belief that their superiority is unattainable it makes them unaware of their own faults. A man receives one look from a mildly attractive woman and their putty. It's a pitiful truth, one I don't find regrettable when it comes to my actions because I have goals to accomplish and they provide the perfect pawns.

One man however was never susceptible to my advances. I wouldn't want him to be. He deserves far more than the woman I claim to be on the outside and he most assuredly wouldn't want the one on the inside. I wish it were different because I can only imagine how it would feel to be wanted for attributes other than my body. For the sake of my sanity I put these delusions aside. I was still an accomplished actress when it came to the others and it was incredibly easy to portray a lust-filled fantasy while remaining the perfect picture of stoicism behind my own truths.

And this current relationship is laughable at best. George is certainly nice enough, he's not Alex, but I still consider him someone I can practice my masquerade with. And more importantly he's an answer to the turmoil affecting my motel. Because what I ultimately need is a seat in a position of power and by playing my cards right there is no doubt in my goal's accomplishment; tonight I'm stacking the deck.

It's after a light dinner when we both agree to drinks at another location. The actual number of adult beverages quickly surpasses any internal limit set and the rational side to both of us is rapidly exceeding propriety. My earlier encounter with Alex is fresh on my mind. I can't understand how something so casual even bordering on argumentative can make me feel so at ease. It's a rare occurrence in my chaotic existence and with drink after drink that blissful feeling finds its way inside and allows the vision of him to swim dangerously in front of my eyes. It's becoming increasingly clear that my awareness is flawed tonight.

In the haze of our mutual inebriation it's not long before we began to take emotions to the physical. The obscurity causes tangled hands and hurried movements to move to fresh exterior. My earlier desires cloud my judgment and with eyes closed, strong hands on my thighs, mouth on neck, it's so incredibly easy to get lost; to pretend in love and it slips out without thought.

"Alex" It's almost breathless, whispered in a moment of weakness, but perceptible all the same. His movements still immediately.

"What the fuck Norma"

"What's wrong? Why'd you stop?" My eyes remain closed. I'm not ready to relinquish this fantasy over to reality. I'm selfish in that respect but my drunkenness is trying to register his confusion and failing. The lingering silence helps me focus and once my error is realized I'm still haste to admit fault.

"Look at me. Who is Alex?" The hands around my wrists squeeze hard with intention and the shooting pain causes my eyelids to flutter open. My vision is blurry and it takes some time to focus but when it does I'm staring into his eyes; the anger behind them burns.

"Alex who? The sheriff. Why are you talking about Romero right now?" The buzzing in my head is a welcomed ally in this fight.

"You fucking him too?"

"George what on earth?" The first hit comes before I can even register a change in his movement. It stings hot, hard, the pain sears across my left cheek and I'm stunned. Long forgotten feelings of fear surface and I'm instantly panicked. Lashing out seems like the only option I have for self preservation but in this state of inebriation its hard to coordinate my movements. The second blow is my undoing, one that he punctuates with the entire force of his body. So easily I'm discarded and left to fend for myself in the darkness.

I'm not sure how much time has passed alone on the concrete but the rain is falling now. It's only attempting to replenish the earth but each drop instead sets a wet reminder of my inadequacy.

Eventually I slide up into a sitting position. My back against brick, my flesh against failure. Everything is falling apart and this incident is the beginning of my destruction. I let myself cry. The tears fall with abandon as I try desperately to formulate a conscious plan.

"Remember if you need me I'm just a call away" It's sudden but the words pound. Echoing and beating against throbbing temples until they're the only thoughts pushing through psychological fog. Sober, Alex's intervention wouldn't have registered as a viable option. But in this pitiful moment he was all I had; I needed to find him.

Attempting to stand is proving more difficult than anticipated and I'm afraid my feet won't carry me further. So I slip back to where I started, doomed to spend eternity in an alleyway; misery my only friend. I crawl like a child then. One unsure of their connection with the ground, learning to move limbs in tandem, as I search desperately for my handbag in the aftermath of it all.

Phone finally in hand the digital readout mingles together and it takes me several attempts to dial a number I know all too well. But I'm drunker than I realize and in frustration I hit the middle button. The deterioration has becomes too much.

"Call Alex"

x

It's late when the vibrations pull me into awareness. I struggled with tangled linens; searching in desperation for my phone beneath the fabric of my sheets. The fog of interrupted sleep makes it impossible to focus but when but when I see her name flashing across the screen I'm thrust into conscious sobriety.

She doesn't give me the ability to answer vocally.

"It's so late Alex" It amazes me how she manages to draw out the sentence with impossibility.

"Norma?"

"Why are you so far?"

"I'm right here"

"No you're not" Her crying comes hard then. Strangled in her throat, her breaths in short segments, fighting for air and speech. I still my movements. I'm more scared than I care to admit.

"Norma breathe for me"

"Please don't...I need ...please" It was clear desperation. My chest tightening, every word she cries a vice, crushing and unrelenting until I'm left panicking. The adrenalin is coursing and my only rational thought is to get to her.

"Where are you?"

"I don't know"

"Norma Louise Bates. Where are you right now?" I'm angry beyond recognition but through the tension I've managed to dress, keys in hand, and I'm already out the door. She's still not answering.

"NORMA"

"Sitting by garbage" Her desperate whimpers don't go unnoticed.

"Oh my God. Alex I'm the garbage"

"Norma please...I'm going to need more than that. What else do you see"

"There are so many lights here Alex. Blue. Oh Norman loves blue"

It was the only clue I needed. I knew exactly where she was.

"Whatever you do, please don't move. You have to stay right where you are for me ok?"

"Ok Alex"

She hangs up before I have a chance to keep her on the line.

x

With flashing lights and full siren I make it to the bar in record time, a true moment where I am thankful to be sheriff, and before I'm even sure the vehicle's in park I'm sprinting, running through a maze of cars and misted rain to reach the entrance of the bar. My hand is around the knob when I first hear it, I hesitate slightly but end up brushing the sound off into oblivion. When I hear it again my badge takes over. I'm immediately on high alert, my fingers brushing securely over the cool metal of my gun, until I'm stalking around the sides of the building; It punches me without warning.

Hysteria had always encompassed her. Her presence a violent tornado that fought its way through obstacles with destruction and unpredictability. The wreckage embeds itself deep, no one is safe, but one clings to the belief they are rational. A practiced calm when it comes to situations that spiral into chaos. Dealing with citizens so casually you wonder if you're capable of emotions at all. It becomes incredibly difficult when it's someone you love.

And the mere sight of her is enough to bring me to my knees but whatever I'm feeling can wait until later because right now I know she needs me. I'm hesitant. I feel like I'm cornering a wounded bird; one that I know has fight left. They desperately need help but are terrified of letting someone in.

And the choice is made.

x

Once I'm convinced she's safe in my SUV I lose it. I'm not exactly sure if I should break down and cry or beat the shit out of everything in my path. My anger is elevating with every breath. Any sense of rationality is escaping me in this moment because when I think about the damage done to her face, the rage is blinding. I find no indecision.

I'm in the bar before I blink, screaming his name into the crowd.

"What do you want?" I whip around to find George standing behind me. He's slightly taller than I expected but I don't think of it as a deterrent. I came in here to make a point.

"I think you know"

"Oh I get it. Alex" He draws out the syllables of my name into something of a moan and it takes every ounce of self control I have left to finish this conversation. His next words clearly decide the outcome.

"You came to pick up your slut" He's on the ground and I don't give him a chance to reciprocate. Mutual struggle is brief and soon enough my fists are flying. Flesh and bone deteriorating under the force of it all, his, mine, I don't know. What I do know is that he's near unconscious and bloody. I can see it, smell it in the air but the sight of it has Norma's face floating in front of me and I'm hitting harder than before.

"DON'T YOU EVER"

"TOUCH"

"HER"

"AGAIN" Each pause in my speech is a blow to any part of his body I can reach and I'm very aware people are watching this encounter but I don't fucking care because I'm not done with this yet, can't be; I'm going to kill this man. I bring my hand back to continue the one-sided assault but a delicate touch on the side of my chin slams me back into the present. I look up to meet her worried eyes and feel the moisture building up in my own.

"It's time to go home"

x

She's silent after that and I'm extremely thankful for the lack of conversation because right now I can't repair what's been broken. So instead I observe while we drive; watch and wait until I find the evidence that can offer strength. From the way her head is resting on the glass it's hard to tell if she's asleep or lost in the circumstances.

Every part of her is soaking and it doesn't matter how fast the hot air is pushing out or how the sweat is beginning to gather on my skin, she's shivering. Movements go unnoticed and I manage to slip off my leather jacket. Seeing her covered in my clothing gives me an unexplainable release and for the first time since she dialed my number I'm able to breathe easier. I'm not a fool though. I'm aware this is just the beginning. Truths will be revealed and the people we once were will cease to exist when daylight comes to fruition. I don't want to disturb that and for a moment I contemplate driving us away from everything and anything; I won't look back but I'm realistic, I know she'd kill me if I took her away from her sons.

Arriving I get out to open her door and when I reach the passenger side I can fully asses that she's been sleeping this entire time. The only part of her I see behind the glass in the darkness is her forehead smashed against window. I open the door with the fear she'll fall out but instead I'm met with recognition.

"Come on"

She moans something inaudible, attempting to converse with me, as I try to guide her from the interior but she stumbles a bit. I'm not sure if it's because the truck is too high and her heels are too slippery, or she's still not sober enough but I don't hesitate anymore. I hook my arms underneath her knees and upper back and all too soon she's safe in my arms. If she's mad about her current position she doesn't let it show and I'm going to take her clinging hands as permission to move forward.

The walk up the steps proves simple enough, her securely in my arms, my strength supporting. It's the front door that causes haphazard hands, the dropping of handbag followed by keys. It's an actual miracle when I do manage to get the door open and I mentally thank anyone willing to listen.

Inside I set her upright for what I believe will only be a brief moment as I shift our bodies to lock the door behind us. When I turn around she's already pulling me in. Her mood has changed dangerously fast and she stumbles only a moment until my body offers the perfect reinforcement. Impossibly close, hands finding their way to my jaw, rubbing, tracing, lingering; her mouth slowly reaching mine.

"I don't think we should do this now"

"I want to do it" Her warm breath drifts over my skin, mixing with the scent of her, and I'm dying because this night is clouding thought and she's brewing a dangerous concoction. Every part of my will wants to succumb to this moment.

"Don't. Don't Play with me. I won't recover"

"I'm not" Instantly her mouth is on mine. It's desperate and searching and I hesitate only slightly before I'm kissing her back with equal force. I don't care anymore because her hands are roaming my body, hot mouth against cool flesh, my lips tasting her; I'm done with cautious bullshit. One moment my hands are squeezing her ass and the next I'm scooping her up in my arms again, legs clinging; the intention is clear. Her head falls to the crook of my neck and she's sucking and biting skin in all the right places.

But with each step my morality is returning and I know that whatever transpired at the bottom of those stairs is going to end the minute I set her down. I want this, more than I have ever wanted anything in my entire life, but this moment is not what either of us deserve. She deserves so much more, and right now, after everything that's happened, is not the time.

When I do set her on the covers she's let drowsiness impair all of her previous actions and I'm fairly certain she's forgotten anything has happened at all. Sitting upright and swaying slightly I'm plagued by the fact she's still so wet. I set out to look for something she can change into but it doesn't feel right to just rifle so casually through her personal belongings. Quite literally I find myself surrendering the shirt from my back. It's just a simple button up and I have a shirt on underneath so the gesture's not completely inappropriate. I can't let her sleep in the clothing she's wearing but my gentleman integrity won't let me witness more than I'm allowed. So with eyes closed I'm unzipping and slipping cloth in rushed movement; I'm ashamed to be touching her at all without consent. I lay her down on mattress; there's relief in the completion.

Until now my subconscious has managed to block out the biggest devastation and when the damage finally registers in full I know my night is unfinished. I don't understand how I've managed to avoid the severity of the bruising that mars her skin. It's almost covering the entirety of her left cheek, the blackeningly purple spreads out and mingles with a cut long since clotted. My fists tighten and I can feel jaw clench as the anger emerges but I manage to push it down because right now she still needs my help. What she needs more is for the cut to be cleaned.

She's fully sleeping when I return. And as I wet gauze with antiseptic I know from personal experience it's going to sting like a bitch. I don't want to disturb her but I have to. Gentle touch is rewarded with only a small hiss of breath and she's back to dreaming before I''m even done placing sterri strips.

I secure the duvet cover around her after everything is finished and with concluding action I punctuate my resume for knight in shining armor. The kiss to her forehead is simple but it expresses more than her peaceful form will ever witness.

"Rest easy Norma"

There is no warning and in my weakness I'm not prepared for its audible delivery. Her whisper meets my ears anyway.

"I love you Alex"

I can't breathe. I know the phrase was uttered in the safety of subconsciousness and logically I know the night is talking, events mixed with alcohol making reciprocating feelings an impossibility, but they cause whatever resolve I have to come crashing down despite my own coherent thought. Logically I know she'll never feel the same but tonight after everything that's transpired I will allow myself to foolishly pretend.

The bedroom door closes behind me without making a sound.

x

Darkness has always offered me security. It's an inconvenient accountability that reflects a perfect parallel. As obscurity fades it's deception becomes temporary. Eventually the veracity is inescapable because the light manages to find its way in.

And right now it's absolutely miserable.

Utterly ruthless in its conquest to push itself beyond the shadows of my bedroom. The uninvited sunlight rests unyielding on my line of vision and even with eyes shut I know it's blinding. The discomfort it causes is exhausting and more than reason enough for me to change positions but I'm loath to do so. Just lying here, limbs essentially unresponsive, I'm left in a state of unwilling. Each shift from the muscles I maneuver send reminders filled with regret. No piece of me is left untouched from irritation; the soreness radiates.

Against my better judgment I stretch and groan begrudgingly at my own displeasure. I set out to sit up despite the pain. It's a needless desire, one where I've clearly underestimated my body's elasticity because acting upon my aspirations is proving more difficult than anticipated. The minute I do manage verticality my bedroom is lost in the revolutions and it takes a few moments and some prolonged avoidance of sight while eyelids close and open but when my vision finally does regain symmetrical focus I can feel the nausea rising. Lurching forward my stomach begins its violent protest to a night I can't seem to remember. I'm down the hall before it has a chance to fully escape.

The cold porcelain of the toilet offers momentary relief from all of it. The pounding in my head, the heat of my skin, the memories that don't seem to fit together and I manage to get a good three or four minutes of blessed obliviousness lying on my bathroom floor until the truths I've been hiding from emerge without warning. It comes back to me in fragmented segments, lucid flashes of lightening ripping apart a violent sky; my mind is racing. I work to piece the divisions together and I can recall George's anger, Alex's fighting, some semblance of kissing him, and my ultimate wake up alone. A dozen thoughts explode and intertwine, each event trying to justify my actions, I'm only left with regret. What the hell have I done?

Temporarily composed I stand fully on shaky legs and body upright I'm met with my reflection for the first time. The mirror echo's the long departed ghosts of my past reflected in the present. I look fucking awful and I should probably be more concerned about my overall appearance but I'm not. I've had worse than this. Former lives before White Pine Bay have left me with countless wounds that won't heal; I'm desensitized to this kind of damage. I'm always a glutton for punishment though and I reach out to touch it regardless of its nasty presentation on my surface. I hiss at the skin on skin contact; fingers meeting flesh. It's tender but eventually physicality will fade into obscurity. I'm always thankful for that.

But with arm raised, hand touching skin, I notice his flannel for the first time in my image. I can remember the rain. And standing here, analyzing my situation, I know with certainty I'm wearing the same bra and underwear as the night before. I think briefly about the dress I can't locate but his scent is overpowering and I don't hesitate to inhale deep. It's a shirt he's worn countless times and as the memories intertwine I can picture him in it clearly. It's most likely it's his favorite shirt and the fact he's sacrificed it for my protection resonates deeper than a simple gesture.

I'm ashamed he's seen me this way; vulnerable, damaged, strength faltering. I pride myself on the facade I portray but this time I've slipped and definitely broken something that wasn't whole to begin. I'm not aware of all the words spoken and the invisible boundaries I've crossed but I have always been determined, forceful when actions don't call for it and this "thing" with Alex is no different; closure is my endgame.

x

Even though I've woken up with the afternoon sun, the minutes drag on, and eventually the hours spent detached from the world feel incredibly long.

I'm impatient and the anxiety I'm feeling over issues unresolved is uncontrollable. Feelings lead to actions and I'm left checking the motel obsessively. I can't help it. Walking by his door, calling his room intermittently, lingering in the office organizing nothing, until all of my crazy compulsions are left peeking out from behind patterned curtains. Every sound I hear is his return, every rush of car off the highway his SUV, my heart drops each time I look out and am met with empty parking lot.

The sun is in the beginning stages of decent when my madness is rewarded. There's the unmistakable crunch of tire on gravel, confirmed by one glimpse of the word Sheriff, and I'm out the door without thought.

Standing outside his bedroom door the time is ticking by as I hesitate. Looking back at all of it I wasted today I realize I could have prepared better for this moment. But now with the severity of it all just a doorway away I'm entirely unsure of everything. I can't believe I'm acting this childish. I've managed my whole life to hide behind a macho persona but underneath I'm incredibly weak. One promise of confrontation with the only man I can't hide myself from anymore and it's turning me into a basket case; this nervousness is an understatement. I raise my arm to knock only to let it fall simultaneously. I can't do this. I've changed my mind and instead I try to run away from my problems. Alex almost runs me over.

"Jesus Norma, you scared the shit out of me" I don't say anything because I'm not sure what to say right now. Besides the shock of running into him a casual "I'm sorry" seems bullshit compared to what I really need to express. The longer this silence lasts between us the longer I can avoid my feelings for him, this, all of it. But he's always been the observer and as his eyes drift away from my face he notices I'm still wearing his shirt. It's too baggy tucked into my jeans but the meaning is clear and his face switches emotions immediately; concern etches itself the deepest into his stoicism.

"You better come in" He fumbles with the room key momentarily but he's back to the picture of rigidness before he lets his mishap register as an emotional breach. His comforting hand comes to rest on the small of my back immediately after. The action is simple, one that's meant to offer direction, but my body is trembling; there's no doubt he notices. He motions for me to sit down upon our full entrance into his room and once seated haphazardly on the edge of the bed it's incredibly easy to feel the tension I've let build between us. I won't be the one to break this silence because I can't bring myself to meet his gaze.

His hand has my attention though. It's almost bandaged in full except for the small flashes of visible skin; the slivers mark their prominence by darkened hues of purples and greens. Pale pink has managed to stain white where knuckle meets the ridge of his fingers and the rest is lost in the cotton. The cacophony of colors is painful to look at but my eyes won't leave their focus. He's hurt because of me, my actions, and my choices. I hate myself even more than I did before. I can feel the whisper of tears on my waterline but the clearing of his throat stirs me from my self pitying distraction before their given the chance to fall. I look up to meet his eyes for the first time. Honesty is my best option now.

"I don't know what to say to you"

"I think I could say the same" His casual tone irks me more than it should and my next words snap with a bit of a punch. It's always zero to sixty with me.

"Well what the hell happened then?" The tears are forming faster but this antagonism I've built is doing a pretty good job at fighting them back. I use it to my advantage

"I remember some. I'd like to get the whole picture" His sigh is long and before the vocality fades he rubs his good hand over his face. No doubt trying to sweep away the discomfort, his eyes are pleading with me.

"Norma I don't want to do this"

"Please Alex" It leaves in more of a whisper than I intended but my tone encompasses the fragility of all of this.

"Please"

"You called me and I brought you home"

"I gathered that much on my own" My irritation is back before I manage to blink.

"What do you want me to tell you?"

"How about the truth?"

"You called me. You were drunk. I found you in the alley outside of Bev's. I brought you home and got you to bed. And I really don't think George will be calling you anytime soon"

"Well that's rich"

"Is it Norma? Is it?"

"What aren't you saying Alex? Why are you lying?" I'm done with the games. I want to push because I want him to say what I know is true.

"Because I don't know where to go from here"

"Can't you just for one minute..." He's yelling before I can finish.

"How do I tell you that you were taken advantage of? That I wanted to see George dead for what he did to you. That I was most definitely going to kill him but instead I beat the shit out of him until you stopped me. Should I have mentioned that I kept you warm, took you home, and cleaned you up? Am I suppose to tell you that I selfishly almost let myself love you because you came on to me? Because I'm not that fucking strong anymore Norma. Is that what you want to hear?" He's breathing hard when he finishes. His face the picture of anger and I can do nothing but yell back.

"I'm sorry. I'm so fucking sorry" It's entirely too mean and I don't intend for the anger and sarcasm that laces around my words but the tears I've been wrestling with break and I'm crying this reckless hysteria. His admission and my subsequent outburst are too much for my psyche to take anymore. My sobbing is nothing but distressed and I'm left in panicked breath.

"I'm sorr...I just...it's all so..." Each pause is a gasp, fish clamoring for air, and when my words fail to finish he gathers me into his arms without hesitation; I let myself fall. I'm shaking and my tears are most definitely soaking skin and fabric but his body protects mine completely. Never waivers until he's sure that I'm safe and calm and it takes quite awhile for me to get to a state of emotional revere. When I finally lift my head out from under his chin, face glistening and ugly, I look into his eyes and their as heartbroken as my own; his unshed tears shine.

"I don't know where to go from here either"

"We could always go together" All reasonability surrenders when the words leave his mouth. And I'm not thinking about all of the things I have left to tell him because I can't take it anymore, so when when shaky lips meet his I kiss without intellectual argument. I can't take this delicate dance and the bullshit distance we've always placed between us, in this moment I have never been so sure of anything.

I falter when he doesn't respond with reciprocation.

"Norma stop" His hand comes between us as the words mumble out from beneath our pressing mouths and this pseudo courage I've temporarily built bursts in humiliation. I'm beyond embarrassed at my foolishness because it was stupid fantasy to think he would want me after what I've done to him. The fresh prick of tears finds its way back through the emotional exhaustion. I can't prevent their escape so instead I hide. With face turned and eyes shut tight his bandaged hand meets the side of my face. Despite the humiliation I lean into his touch.

"Look at me"

"Please?" I can't help but meet his eyes.

"I have wanted this...you Norma" His hand traces a different path one that leads to open hands. As his words finish he's clutching mine in his own.

"for so long but If this is not..."

"I..."

"Please...just let me finish. If this, whatever this is, is not what you want... I'll...I'll be ok. Relationship or not I will never let anyone hurt you. You owe me nothing. Ever" His grip tightens; pleads with me.

"And If something does happen between us that's...If it's not real...I won't survive it Norma. I can't. If you can't, please don't"

His words are deafening in my ears and yet the sound of my heart pounding and shallow breathing is somehow louder. I want this. I've have always wanted this; him. And there's so much left I have to say but it can wait; we've waited too long as it is. And I can't begin to know what the future holds for us but what I do know that it's been unbearably painful for my soul to love this silently. I need him now.

"I've never wanted anyone more than you" As the words leave my mouth he's pulling me forward. The transition is haphazard and clumsy but with mouths devouring and hands gripping I don't hesitate to surrender to him completely. This time our lips are frantic in their search for more places to discover, for more flesh to bite, absorb and assault. Laying on the mattress, back on bed, his hands entrap heated flesh. Clawing their way to my breasts. I don't hide the startled moan the spills from my lips at the feeling of his practiced touch on their purchase. His hardness simultaneously pushing itself against my lower pelvis only adds to the haze of euphoria; the fabric between our bodies has become too much.

His hands move up and over past the neckline of plaid, pulling, tearing, until he's tugging it down along the cups of my bra. Breasts exposed there's a momentary feeling of coldness mixed with vulnerability but they both vanish as soon as his hands return to their onslaught. Grasping and kneading flesh, finding hardened peaks, pinching, until I'm moaning all over again.

"God you are so damn beautiful" He utters it before he takes me completely with his mouth. I need more of him so my hands tear at his belt sandwiched between our pressed flesh but they're making slow work of the metal and leather. Groaning he leans back on his knees above me and finishes the task himself. Belt tossed haphazardly I unbutton and zip, until pants and spandex rest on exposed hips.

This momentary break we've found ourselves in harbors ragged breath and allows for unclouded thought. I can tell he's still unsure of everything that's happening because they way he's staring expresses what he can't with his words. His injured hand come up to trace the hurt left on my own face. Pain, and hurt, and hope reflect in the way the bruises touch. There's abhorrence in the poetry of our situation.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes" He doesn't wait to move and standing now he sheds what's left of his shirt. There's the unmistakable echo of clothing hitting the motel floor and before it all registers he's pulling my own pants down. His tongue follows along on my lower half immediately after; teasing me through the lace.

"God so...so sure Alex" I'm verging on breathlessness but hands grab at his hair while tongue taunts, softly biting as he goes. Pulling panties to one side, I feel his movements, intense sensations enveloping before he plunges; he knows when to move, when to go faster, the pace he sets is agonizing in pleasure and I can feel the momentum building. I'm too sensitive; all I want is him inside of me.

"Alex please" He grips my leg's tightly, and hooking a finger into the waistband, he's pulling them off completely. Back in position above me, face brushing my own, his voice whispers to my ear.

"I will spend my whole life protecting you" He thrusts without warning then, slow and deep, hands pulling hips closer. I bite my lip, try desperately to keep the moans I feel in my chest contained to whimpers and mewls. The sound of our bodies thrusting into each other is wet, and messy, and each time I try to suppress my moans my brain gives in to the carnal pleasure. He's pushing me closer and closer to the edge of oblivion.

"Please...Alex...don't stop" His head is still in the crook of my neck and his laugh against my flesh is almost breathless; I can hear the pleasure in his voice. I know he's enjoying this, too. I can feel it in the way hands are tightening on my waist; bruising where they grab. Hear it in his labored breathing, feel it in every throbbing pulse as our bodies meet. And I love it. I crave it. I need it.

Body aching for relief I pull him closer; squeeze his ass, as I open my legs further. Our hips rock in perfect rhythm, headboard hitting wall. I finally cry out, clutching fiercely as hands dig into broad shoulders with the feel of my release. I cry out his name as the ecstasy explodes. He follows shortly after kissing me hard while our bodies continue to spasm.

x

It's late when I open my eyes. I can tell because the fading afternoon sunlight has succumbed to complete darkness. And the only illumination is radiating from an alarm clock blinking out the hour; 2:00 am. It takes a minute to adjust to the shift in light, vision adapting as pupils dilate, scanning my surroundings I become very aware of her presence.

Our nude limbs tangle together beneath cotton sheets and with the press of her creamy thigh between my own I wonder how my brain let me forget at all. This slip just a reminder, a small manifestation of the revenge taken by my fatigue, forgetting her is something I could never do. Because any moment I've ever spent with her, near her, fighting, or crying or killing, or both I have always been thankful for. They were the memories that made days spent alone bearable; she was the entity that persuaded my comfort. And this memory, right now, is one I will never be able to fully express my gratitude for.

But this was rushed, frantic even, and the irony is not lost on me because we've always fabricated separation. The minute one of us got closer the other would push back with more force; actions perpetuating the cycle; the other wounded. Just this time I'll allow a half-hearted excuse, because with the exhaustion of recent activities, the fighting, and the confessions, and the merging of bodies, life has become entirely too much for the both of us.

I will spend the rest of our time together making up for it, worshiping her, because I've always wanted more for her; more with her; forever.

That forever is a life I've only dared to imagine. Usually one that was heavily influenced by expensive scotch or bourbon, dreams drowned at the bottom of a glass. An idea that always managed to slip it's way in through conscious thought, one left to the mercy of desires I'd never even voiced aloud; I've never wanted anything more. But even with the physicality of it all, there were things that weren't voiced, I could feel them sure, but the unknown harbors my self doubt.

Because Norma's always been an unpredictable woman, her emotions come with split-second transformations, and because of that erraticsism I'm never entirely sure of where I stand. Today, when were both awake, she could very well tell me that whatever this "thing" is, is over. If she does it'll kill me. I know it will, but right now, here with her, I'm going to cherish everything that I've been given.

During the time we've managed sleep her body's faced mine completely and I can't help but watch her. I do it regardless of her awareness in our encounters but it's extremely freeing to look uninhibited; without questioning eyes. She's extremely peaceful under the temptation of sleep, this tranquility a rare occurrence I've come to witness in the two years I've known her; I don't dream of disturbing the serenity.

But one of my arms is draped over the curve of her hip, it's casual in the way it rests, and the other is compromised; buried between her and the mattress. That unbearable feeling has settled in from the lack of blood and her tangled hair is brushing against my skin with every exhale of warm breath. The static mixed with the sensations her body is eliciting creates an intoxicating combination. And I want to memorize her; every curve, scar, and beauty mark, and idle hands have always had a mind of their own. Too soon my free one finds itself tracing patterns on her skin. She's perfection lying here; annoying, infuriating, perfection; it's pathetic how easily she unravels me.

I'm so caught up in her existence I don't realize she's awake, watching me move, until her hand stills my wandering actions. Delicate fingers intertwine with the roughness of my own and she shifts impossibly closer. Almost completely chest to chest we stay like this for awhile; us, the quiet, the occasional brush of lips on skin, the two of us reveling in the closeness of our bodies. The only disruption comes in the formation of sounds; our light breathing, the hum of the air conditioner, cars passing on the highway. I don't want to disturb this ambiguity, break the stillness we've created, so instead I offer a genuine smile; she reciprocates immediately. Lost in the uninhibited minutes I've almost let myself drift back to the quiet and I'm on the edge of sleep when her voice interrupts the descent.

"Alex?"

"Hmm?"

"Why?"

"Why what?" Each word pulls me from the haze.

"Why did we wait so long?" I've taken to rubbing my thumb on the outside of her fingers.

"Maybe inevitability just needed us to be patient? Sometimes circumstances have a way of working themselves out on their own"

"Well I'm not waiting anymore. I so tired of waiting...for everything. I keep waiting for things to be successful, waiting for this, for Norman to get better..." Her shaky breath captures my full attention. There's so much pain behind her eyes, I can see the moisture building up and I'm afraid she'll start crying. She starts instead.

"Why do we always push each-other away?"

"I don't know but I know what you mean"

She's quiet for quite some time after that, unbelievably so, and I'm left with nothing. I know she's lost in her thoughts and I desperately want some sliver of explanation to where her questioning is headed but I don't want to push her; would never think of it. The perpetuated silence drags on despite my needs.

"Do you remember earlier? When we were together?"

"How could I forget"

She smacks my chest in response to the joke. The humor only slightly eases the tension of the conversation. "No, not that"

"George?" I hate him, hate the fact that I've even had to say his name, instantly I'm on edge. I know she can feel the anger, feel it in the way my body picks up tempo, a direct relation to the spike in my pulse.

"No, most definitely not that" She's serious again. There's a nervousness that lingers but she's changing subjects as quickly as my emotions are unraveling; I can't keep up. And besides last night and the subsequent chain of events afterward we've only spent a brief interaction standing in the parking lot of her motel. Her words are losing me.

"I meant what I said yesterday Alex" Still not following I use prior knowledge to compensate.

"What was that, that I'm a smartass?" It comes out with a laugh. "No" It's a laugh that dies the minute she speaks.

"That I love you" My breath hitches instead, eyes searching hers, nervous, and I'm internally panicked; I can feel the finality creeping in.

"I know I said it"

"You didn't..."

"And I wanted you to know that I meant it. You've always been so...and I think that I've always known. But I just...and with everything...I love you alright. It's very hard for me admit...but I do. I love you Alex Romero"

"Norma Louise" And just like that there's nothing more to say because I'm kissing her, her hands, her face, any part of skin that my mouth can reach. Because I feel like crying, or exploding, or all of it put together, but instead I'm doing the only thing I can think of to ease the pressure that's built up; to release the insurmountable joy caught in my chest. She's laughing hysterically, ticklish where my lips attack, and it's utterly contagious. There's not much romanticism behind it but I'm just so fucking happy and I can't stop. I have always been completely unworthy of any love from this woman.

"Stop...Alex stop" Her prolonged laughter has caused a struggle for the words to be heard, her breath coming in short pants, but I'm so caught up in the euphoria it's just hard to notice. Eventually though I do become sympathetic towards her lack of oxygen and I cease my movements; she's still laughing as I pull away.

I finish with a gentle kiss to her forehead, bringing my eyes to meet hers.

"Norma. I love you too"


End file.
